[flashfic] BoP
Fandom: Birds of Prey
Words: 960
Notes: =( Sorry? Some idea-->execution hang ups. The first part came out well and pretty much as I had planned; the second part kind of surprised me. I haven't decided if this was a good surprise.
The first time Sin attended a funeral, Dinah held her hand tightly and Sin could feel the slight tremors through her sister’s fingers. The tears were plain on the blonde’s pale face, even if her crying was silent.
Sin looked up at her sister and then around at the others, all dressed in black or other dark colors. She picked at the hem of her own black dress. She didn’t understand.
“Why do you put him in a box and cover him with dirt?” Sin asked, but maybe too quietly because it was very quiet, a strange calm interrupted only by sniffles or a sudden burst of sobs quickly stifled or muffled. Dinah didn’t hear her or maybe she had, because she squeezed Sin’s hand even more tightly. Sin didn’t ask again.
But later when the small groups began to break up, Barbara led Sin away from the crowds, giving Dinah’s hand a squeeze. Sister had given them a watery smile that threatened to dissolve with the fierce trembling of her lips, smoothed down Sin’s hair, and then had disappeared into the crowd where she was met with hugs.
“Burying the dead is a rite… a tradition, Sin,” Barbara said without warning. Sin turned to the red-haired woman. Barbara smiled gently. “You asked why we put him in a box and covered him with dirt. It’s called a ‘burial.’ Actually, the ceremony is called a ‘funeral.’”
Sin’s brows furrowed as she struggled to understand. “Why do you do it?”
“Most of the time, for religious reasons.”
Sin felt even more confused and it showed.
“I’ll have to explain Christianity and other belief systems to you another time,” Barbara said. Then she was quiet for a time. Taking Sin’s hands in her own, she drew her around so that the girl stood in front of her, and said, “‘Death is for the living,’ Sin.”
Sin’s face scrunched up. “I do not understand.”
Barbara brushed back the young girl’s hair and cupped her face. “Do you remember what Dinah told you when we visited the memorial for our friend Ted Kord? That it was our way of honoring him? That’s what we’re doing here today: honoring our friend by remembering him. In a sense, he’s not really dead if we keep him in our hearts and memories.” She turned her head and Sin followed her line of sight. Across the room, Dinah spoke softly with a man that Sin did not recognize. Sister was crying quietly, wiping at her tears with a handkerchief. “But it can be sad to remember, too, Sin. It’s hard to say goodbye to friends.”
Sin gazed at Dinah for a long time. “Why are you sad if he died with honor?”
“Oh, we’re proud of him, of course,” Barbara said, “but he’s moved on and we won’t see him again-well, not until we pass on, too, if you believe that. We’re sad because we miss him.” The redhead took a deep breath. “Wouldn’t you be sad if you could never see Dinah again?”
Sin thought about it and felt a tightness in her chest. It wasn’t comfortable. “Yes.”
Barbara drew her into a hug. “I would be, too, Sin. See? That’s how we feel today. Do you understand now?”
Sin nodded against the redhead’s shoulder. Later she would remember that Barbara hadn’t cried that day, that when they had walked to the cars waiting for them-Dinah holding one hand, Barbara the other-Barbara had snuck a glance of concern at Dinah and Dinah had done the same when Barbara wasn’t looking, and that when they had said their goodbyes, Barbara had looked tired and wan.
This was what Sin would remember.
*
She hadn’t really understood that day, Sin knew now. Even having attended a few other funerals in the years that had followed, she still hadn’t really understood.
Until today.
Tears slipped down her cheeks. She’d never cried at any of the other funerals before. Dinah had cried at each and every one of them. She… wore her heart on her sleeve. Barbara had said that once.
Sin covered her eyes, as much attempting to hide her tears as she was trying to avoid looking at her sister and guardian. There were no tears in Dinah’s eyes today. Her bright blue gaze was as clear as the sunny day around them. Bright… and empty.
Sin had never seen anyone look so lost, not even during her years training under Mother.
It scared her.
Sin had heard some rumors over the years and knew that they had been, to her knowledge, wrong and right. Wrong in every literal way, but right in every essential aspect.
They had loved each other. It had been that simple. Even Sin had known it, had seen it.
And Sin loved… had loved… them both so much.
She couldn’t take losing Dinah, too.
They stayed. They stayed after the prayers were said, after the casket was lowered, after the first shovelful of dirt. They stayed after the others-so many others in their somber clothing-had drifted away.
They stayed and Sin held Dinah’s limp hand.
And then: “Dinah.”
Dinah turned, saw who it was, and whispered in a voice that broke, “Helena.”
Sin wasn’t sure who started crying first, Helena or Dinah, but the two wrapped each other in a tight embrace, muffling their sobs against each other’s shoulders.
“Oh, God,” Dinah moaned, “I miss her already. So much…”
“Shhh, I know, I know, shhh,” Helena crooned in her ear, her own tears falling freely. “Shhh....”
And as Sin silently hugged Dinah from behind, trapping her between her warmth and Helena’s-between their presences-she remembered what Barbara said.
She would always remember; she was only saying goodbye today.
*Quote from BoP #96.
Fandom: Birds of Prey
Words: 452
Notes: Kitty 'verse. Started here.
“You know, at first I thought you named her after the myth of Hero and Leander.”
At the other end of the couch, Helena lowered the paper she had been grading and said, “What?”
“Hero and Leander?” Barbara repeated, absently scratching the kitten behind an ear. Hero was a purring ball of warmth on her stomach. When the silence almost began to feel awkward, Barbara lowered the biography she was reading and glanced at her agent. Helena’s expression was blank.
“The Greek myth?” Barbara tried again.
“Sicilian,” Helena said, pointing at herself. “Roman mythology.”
Barbara gave her a look.
“What?” Helena said, spreading her hands (one still holding the paper, the other armed with a red pen). “They are different. Is there a Roman equivalent for your Hero and Leander?”
Barbara turned thoughtful. “Not that I know of… no.”
“There you go,” Helena said, smiling smugly. She returned to grading and then said, casually, “So what’s the myth?”
Barbara lifted her book again, but said, “They were lovers that lived on opposite sides of the Dardanelles. But because Hero was a priestess of Aphrodite, she couldn’t marry. Still, every night Leander would swim across the strait to be with her, guided by a light that Hero kept in her tower. But one stormy night the light was blown out and Leander drowned. When Hero learned of his death, she threw herself from her tower and died.”
Helena’s pen hovered above the paper. She said nothing for a little and then simply said, “Wow.”
Barbara nodded, lightly scratching down Hero’s spine.
“And you thought I named her after that?” Helena asked.
Barbara shrugged. “It was my first thought. Much Ado about Nothing made much more sense.”
Helena put essay and pen aside, leaned over Barbara’s legs, and gave the kitten a good pet. Barbara looked at her in shock.
“Helena-” Barbara said, voice sharp, sending Helena an indignant look under the book she held up high. Helena merely smiled.
“You have nothing to worry about, Babs. Hero here wouldn’t leave you in the dark.” She chucked the kitten under the chin, smile fading. “None of us would.”
Barbara fell quiet. Then, “I don’t think you know what you’re saying, Helena.”
Helena caught and held her gaze. “I think I do.”
Barbara didn’t respond. Finally, Helena levered herself up and back towards her end of the couch, stretched, and then picked up the essay she had left off on. A minute later, Barbara returned to her book.
When she reached the end of the chapter, Barbara said, “Thank you.”
Helena dashed off a quick comment. “You’re welcome.”
On Barbara’s stomach, Hero stretched, blinked up at the redhead, and then drifted back into sleep.
Note: I was going to tweak Helena's final words and add a cheesy line, but I kind of think the sparseness of the lines suit Babs and Helena better. Hopefully this makes up for the sad stuff above.
Words: 960
Notes: =( Sorry? Some idea-->execution hang ups. The first part came out well and pretty much as I had planned; the second part kind of surprised me. I haven't decided if this was a good surprise.
The first time Sin attended a funeral, Dinah held her hand tightly and Sin could feel the slight tremors through her sister’s fingers. The tears were plain on the blonde’s pale face, even if her crying was silent.
Sin looked up at her sister and then around at the others, all dressed in black or other dark colors. She picked at the hem of her own black dress. She didn’t understand.
“Why do you put him in a box and cover him with dirt?” Sin asked, but maybe too quietly because it was very quiet, a strange calm interrupted only by sniffles or a sudden burst of sobs quickly stifled or muffled. Dinah didn’t hear her or maybe she had, because she squeezed Sin’s hand even more tightly. Sin didn’t ask again.
But later when the small groups began to break up, Barbara led Sin away from the crowds, giving Dinah’s hand a squeeze. Sister had given them a watery smile that threatened to dissolve with the fierce trembling of her lips, smoothed down Sin’s hair, and then had disappeared into the crowd where she was met with hugs.
“Burying the dead is a rite… a tradition, Sin,” Barbara said without warning. Sin turned to the red-haired woman. Barbara smiled gently. “You asked why we put him in a box and covered him with dirt. It’s called a ‘burial.’ Actually, the ceremony is called a ‘funeral.’”
Sin’s brows furrowed as she struggled to understand. “Why do you do it?”
“Most of the time, for religious reasons.”
Sin felt even more confused and it showed.
“I’ll have to explain Christianity and other belief systems to you another time,” Barbara said. Then she was quiet for a time. Taking Sin’s hands in her own, she drew her around so that the girl stood in front of her, and said, “‘Death is for the living,’ Sin.”
Sin’s face scrunched up. “I do not understand.”
Barbara brushed back the young girl’s hair and cupped her face. “Do you remember what Dinah told you when we visited the memorial for our friend Ted Kord? That it was our way of honoring him? That’s what we’re doing here today: honoring our friend by remembering him. In a sense, he’s not really dead if we keep him in our hearts and memories.” She turned her head and Sin followed her line of sight. Across the room, Dinah spoke softly with a man that Sin did not recognize. Sister was crying quietly, wiping at her tears with a handkerchief. “But it can be sad to remember, too, Sin. It’s hard to say goodbye to friends.”
Sin gazed at Dinah for a long time. “Why are you sad if he died with honor?”
“Oh, we’re proud of him, of course,” Barbara said, “but he’s moved on and we won’t see him again-well, not until we pass on, too, if you believe that. We’re sad because we miss him.” The redhead took a deep breath. “Wouldn’t you be sad if you could never see Dinah again?”
Sin thought about it and felt a tightness in her chest. It wasn’t comfortable. “Yes.”
Barbara drew her into a hug. “I would be, too, Sin. See? That’s how we feel today. Do you understand now?”
Sin nodded against the redhead’s shoulder. Later she would remember that Barbara hadn’t cried that day, that when they had walked to the cars waiting for them-Dinah holding one hand, Barbara the other-Barbara had snuck a glance of concern at Dinah and Dinah had done the same when Barbara wasn’t looking, and that when they had said their goodbyes, Barbara had looked tired and wan.
This was what Sin would remember.
*
She hadn’t really understood that day, Sin knew now. Even having attended a few other funerals in the years that had followed, she still hadn’t really understood.
Until today.
Tears slipped down her cheeks. She’d never cried at any of the other funerals before. Dinah had cried at each and every one of them. She… wore her heart on her sleeve. Barbara had said that once.
Sin covered her eyes, as much attempting to hide her tears as she was trying to avoid looking at her sister and guardian. There were no tears in Dinah’s eyes today. Her bright blue gaze was as clear as the sunny day around them. Bright… and empty.
Sin had never seen anyone look so lost, not even during her years training under Mother.
It scared her.
Sin had heard some rumors over the years and knew that they had been, to her knowledge, wrong and right. Wrong in every literal way, but right in every essential aspect.
They had loved each other. It had been that simple. Even Sin had known it, had seen it.
And Sin loved… had loved… them both so much.
She couldn’t take losing Dinah, too.
They stayed. They stayed after the prayers were said, after the casket was lowered, after the first shovelful of dirt. They stayed after the others-so many others in their somber clothing-had drifted away.
They stayed and Sin held Dinah’s limp hand.
And then: “Dinah.”
Dinah turned, saw who it was, and whispered in a voice that broke, “Helena.”
Sin wasn’t sure who started crying first, Helena or Dinah, but the two wrapped each other in a tight embrace, muffling their sobs against each other’s shoulders.
“Oh, God,” Dinah moaned, “I miss her already. So much…”
“Shhh, I know, I know, shhh,” Helena crooned in her ear, her own tears falling freely. “Shhh....”
And as Sin silently hugged Dinah from behind, trapping her between her warmth and Helena’s-between their presences-she remembered what Barbara said.
She would always remember; she was only saying goodbye today.
*Quote from BoP #96.
Fandom: Birds of Prey
Words: 452
Notes: Kitty 'verse. Started here.
“You know, at first I thought you named her after the myth of Hero and Leander.”
At the other end of the couch, Helena lowered the paper she had been grading and said, “What?”
“Hero and Leander?” Barbara repeated, absently scratching the kitten behind an ear. Hero was a purring ball of warmth on her stomach. When the silence almost began to feel awkward, Barbara lowered the biography she was reading and glanced at her agent. Helena’s expression was blank.
“The Greek myth?” Barbara tried again.
“Sicilian,” Helena said, pointing at herself. “Roman mythology.”
Barbara gave her a look.
“What?” Helena said, spreading her hands (one still holding the paper, the other armed with a red pen). “They are different. Is there a Roman equivalent for your Hero and Leander?”
Barbara turned thoughtful. “Not that I know of… no.”
“There you go,” Helena said, smiling smugly. She returned to grading and then said, casually, “So what’s the myth?”
Barbara lifted her book again, but said, “They were lovers that lived on opposite sides of the Dardanelles. But because Hero was a priestess of Aphrodite, she couldn’t marry. Still, every night Leander would swim across the strait to be with her, guided by a light that Hero kept in her tower. But one stormy night the light was blown out and Leander drowned. When Hero learned of his death, she threw herself from her tower and died.”
Helena’s pen hovered above the paper. She said nothing for a little and then simply said, “Wow.”
Barbara nodded, lightly scratching down Hero’s spine.
“And you thought I named her after that?” Helena asked.
Barbara shrugged. “It was my first thought. Much Ado about Nothing made much more sense.”
Helena put essay and pen aside, leaned over Barbara’s legs, and gave the kitten a good pet. Barbara looked at her in shock.
“Helena-” Barbara said, voice sharp, sending Helena an indignant look under the book she held up high. Helena merely smiled.
“You have nothing to worry about, Babs. Hero here wouldn’t leave you in the dark.” She chucked the kitten under the chin, smile fading. “None of us would.”
Barbara fell quiet. Then, “I don’t think you know what you’re saying, Helena.”
Helena caught and held her gaze. “I think I do.”
Barbara didn’t respond. Finally, Helena levered herself up and back towards her end of the couch, stretched, and then picked up the essay she had left off on. A minute later, Barbara returned to her book.
When she reached the end of the chapter, Barbara said, “Thank you.”
Helena dashed off a quick comment. “You’re welcome.”
On Barbara’s stomach, Hero stretched, blinked up at the redhead, and then drifted back into sleep.
Note: I was going to tweak Helena's final words and add a cheesy line, but I kind of think the sparseness of the lines suit Babs and Helena better. Hopefully this makes up for the sad stuff above.